


In the Abode

by ConvenientAlias



Series: Let Me In [2]
Category: Le Fantôme de l'Opéra | Phantom of the Opera & Related Fandoms, Le Fantôme de l'Opéra | Phantom of the Opera - Gaston Leroux
Genre: Creepy Erik, Dinner, Domestic Fluff, M/M, but not really this time
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-04
Updated: 2017-09-04
Packaged: 2018-12-23 17:21:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,974
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11994435
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ConvenientAlias/pseuds/ConvenientAlias
Summary: In which Erik finally, finally lets the daroga into his house.





	In the Abode

**Author's Note:**

  * For [tatselk](https://archiveofourown.org/users/tatselk/gifts).



Erik’s house, as it turned out, was very nice.

The daroga should have been pleased at this, doubtless. He had prior to now somewhat worried about how his friend got on living in the middle of a labyrinth of tunnels full of death traps, gloom and sewer stink. While he had seen the house from a distance and it had looked very proper, he had wondered whether inside it might be completely bare or full of musical instruments and torture implements and little else. These were not unrealistic concerns when it came to Erik. Sadly.

But the house was very nice. It had Persian rugs on the floor that made the daroga a little nostalgic, and the walls were all neatly wallpapered with floral designs, and there was a wicker rocking chair, a proper dining table with four places (though who knew why, with how Erik shut out guests), several nice arm chairs, a desk littered with sheet music, a grand piano, a small kitchen with an oven and stove both, and even a bookshelf containing various texts on engineering, music and history, as well as a number of opera scores. Utterly domestic, as long as you disregarded the fact that instead of a bed Erik was currently using a coffin lined with velvet cushioning, and that a few doors were conspicuously locked and he refused to explain what was behind them. For Erik, that was tame.

The daroga should have been relieved that Erik was living such a nice and comfortable life, but he actually felt rather annoyed. Such a nice house, and the daroga could have been visiting it for years if Erik had only let him inside instead of consistently half drowning him in the lake and then telling him ominously to go away. They could have been having a good time, and Erik had spoiled it.

“How did you even get all this furniture down here?” he asked waspishly.

Erik shrugged. “You know I have more strength in these arms than is immediately apparent.” And it was true that behind the bony appendages lay a surprising amount of wiry muscle, but even the strongest man could not carry a grand piano on his own.

“Did you carry it down in parts and reconstruct it?” the daroga asked, touching a couple of its keys. “If you’d only let me help you, it probably would have been much easier…”

“It is none of your business where I get my furniture,” Erik said.

The daroga raised an eyebrow. “Oh, isn’t it?”

“No,” Erik said. “It’s not. Don’t be nosy.” But he was not paying much attention to the daroga’s words and was instead eyeing his legs with a concerning amount of focus. The look was quite intimidating, especially since Erik was not wearing his mask and thus had left exposed the full horror of his visage. Even yesterday the daroga would have worried he was planning on breaking those legs. Now he thought Erik might be thinking about something different, but still not the most appropriate since Erik had offered the daroga dinner tonight, not endless sex, and the daroga was actually hungry.

“You’d better take those off,” Erik said abruptly.

Oh dear. “Erik, you promised me dinner.”

“I promised you a change of clothes. Your pants are soaked,” Erik said. “You will catch cold and die, my dear daroga, and we wouldn’t want that.”

The daroga shivered, not from the wet and cold of his pants. “I told you to stop threatening me, didn’t I?”

“Bad habits,” Erik said. “We’re close enough to the same size. Go and change in the spare bedroom.”

The daroga gave him a look.

Erik sighed. “I can promise you I will not come in while you are unclothed, if that is what worries you. I can lock the door, if you want. It only locks from the outside, but if I were to unlock it you would hear the clicking of the key, which would give you enough warning to hide yourself quickly or prepare for attack. I would prefer you to feel safe here, since you are my friend.”

“Good Lord, Erik!” the daroga said. “I wasn’t worried about that before, though you certainly know how to set a man on edge. But I do not recall you showing me a spare bedroom, and I do not have any clothes to change into. And why does your spare bedroom only lock on the outside?”

Erik did not answer that last question. “It was one of the locked rooms, though I suppose it is not vital to conceal it from you. As for the clothes, I will fetch you some myself.”

So saying, he went to his own bedroom, daroga trailing behind him, and brought out a pair of pants, a belt, a shirt, a vest, a tie, and even a spare set of drawers and an undershirt, all of which he handed to the daroga. And he led the daroga to one of the locked doors and he unlocked it. But as soon as the daroga had stepped inside, he stepped out and closing the door, locked it again.

The daroga immediately turned around and shouted, “Erik!”

“What, man?”

“Have you locked me in, you ninny?”

“I only want you to feel safe. Have no fear, I will return in a moment. I am setting out dinner for us.”

“Wants me to feel safe,” the daroga muttered. “So he locks me in, that damn…” He turned to look at the rest of the room, and lost his train of thought.

The rest of Erik’s house had mimicked a family house, domestic and warm. But while cozy, no other room had looked so lovely as this. The wallpaper was sprinkled with bouquets of roses and daylilies, and the rug was the warmest combination of reds and pale greens and yellows in the house. The bed was not a coffin but a real bed with four corners, a thick mattress and a feather pillow, and a quilt composed of pink feather stars on mint green, with a red border. There was a dresser made of mahogany, and on it sat a vase once again painted with flowers, cheerful and bright, and a lamp lit the room brilliantly next to it. There were a couple paintings framed on the wall, even, and each of them depicted a happy couple standing or sitting side by side.

The daroga touched the quilt, soft cotton sewn by careful hands. Thick, too. Nicer than anything Erik would give to himself, friendlier.

This was a woman’s room. That or a child’s.

The clothes fit him surprisingly well. The pants and shirt were a bit snug on him, with the legs and sleeves a bit too long, but they would do for the night. He put on the vest and tie as well, and sat down on the bed and waited.

Erik arrived to let him out only a little later. He gave the daroga a once-over and said, “I forgot the shoes and socks, but inside the house it is more polite to go barefoot.” He himself had taken off his shoes and was only wearing black socks. The daroga nodded agreement.

He did not ask about the room.

In the dining room, the table now had a cream-colored tablecloth spread over it, and in the center of the table was a loaf of bread and a cooked chicken carved into slices. Two places were set with plates, forks, knives and glasses half filled with wine. The wine bottle sat in the center of the table as well.

The daroga sat down. “Chicken and bread, Erik?”

Erik sat as well. “You can serve yourself, I trust.”

“Erik,” the daroga said reprovingly. “After the help I gave you earlier…”

“If you wish for service of that kind, you will have to wait until after we eat,” Erik said. “In the meantime, I am hungry.”

So they both took their own food, hunks of bread and slices of chicken. It was all very bland. The daroga cleared his throat. “Your standards have lowered since we left Persia.”

“Not my standards, only my means. I take food from the opera house kitchens, you know, and some times their food is better than others. Tonight, I suppose it is not amazing. Were it an opening night, you would see a feast before you, my daroga.”

“Most nights are not opening nights.”

“Fine then, I have lowered my standards. Out of need, mind you.”

“You should let me cook for you,” the daroga said. He did not know how to cook as well as some—certainly he would never cook as well as his mother had, despite her teachings—but he knew at least better than this. “At the very least I could make you better bread than this, and we could get some feta. Perhaps some kabobs. And you need vegetables and fruit, Erik—I know they can be expensive out of season but you must think of your health…”

“If it isn’t one thing, it’s another. I let you sit at my table and you complain about my food. How else do you want to force yourself into my life?”

The daroga smiled. “In any way you will let me, my dear Erik.”

Erik picked up his glass of wine and swirled its contents. Staring into the cup, he said, “I do not deserve you, daroga.”

“Well, I’m glad you know it.”

Erik took a gulp of the wine. He did not respond.

More softly, the daroga said, “Erik, no man ever deserves another. What I give you—my friendship, my love, my cooking skills—those things are mine to give, and yours to take.”

“I do not deserve you,” Erik repeated. He stood, and facing the daroga head-on, solemnly bowed.

The daroga stood too. He stepped over to Erik and gently kissed him. “Yes, but I want you. Only I would also like to continue our dinner, if we may.”

Erik chuckled. “Very well. I apologize for my dramatics. But I stand by the statement that you are a fine man.”

“Once again, I do not object.” The daroga sat and took another bite of the bread with chicken on top of it. “Really, though, at the very least I could add some spices. When can I come down here again?”

“Any time you want,” Erik said earnestly.

“Ah, now you’ll play the gracious host?”

“Daroga…”

“I’ll come this Tuesday, then. If that pleases you.”

Erik winced. “There is a certain performance that night I very much hoped to see. One of the sopranos…”

“So much for any time.” But seeing Erik’s apologetic look, the daroga said, “Wednesday, then. It will give me more time to get ingredients.”

“Wednesday,” Erik said. “I will look forward to it. And tonight?”

“Tonight what?”

“I wondered if you might want to stay. In the spare bedroom.”

“Well, I have little else to do. I suppose I might as well.” It had certainly looked comfortable, though undeniably feminine. Definitely better than the bed back in his own tiny flat. “Maybe your breakfast will be better than your dinner.”

“It will likely be more of the same.”

The daroga sighed. “We will have to get you some rice or at least some better bread soon. You live like a beast, Erik.”

“If you say so,” Erik said. But while earlier in the night he had called himself a monstrous man in earnest, he now spoke with a twisted smile. It didn’t make him look any less hideous, but it made the daroga smile in return.

A domestic house. A tablecloth only brought out for guests. A grand piano he had to have brought down in parts and constructed by hand.

Really, Erik wasn’t a beast. He wasn’t anything like it.

**Author's Note:**

> Hey guys. This one is a sequel to "Let Me In or Strike Me Down" (rare for me to write a sequel!) so if you didn't read that one, idk if this one made any sense. Anyways this has a bit more fluff than I'm used to but the last one carries the brunt of the angst so I was free to let loose.  
> Here we continue down the path of domestic Pharoga, and things seem to be going pretty well. Once again, who knows if it will last. But I want to believe. Either way the daroga will at least make Erik some tasty food in the near future and they will probably make out, which is all that really matters.  
> Comments and kudos are much appreciated.


End file.
